Life goes on; life stays the same; everything changes (с)
"School," Spencer says, and Brendon kind of freezes, he just can't help it. He plasters a smile on his face - the same smile he wears all year, he thinks.
"Yeah."
"You kind of hate it, right?" Spencer says, and Brendon nods. He does. Before this summer he wouldn't have admitted to it - no, school's great, it's amazing, there are some cool kids there, love the music - but he really, really does hate it.
"I'd be a great friend," Brendon says miserably.
"Yeah," Spencer says, and Brendon's not looking at him but he thinks that maybe Spencer's looking at him. "Brent says you don't really know many people."
Brendon's foot taps against the fence. He shakes his head. Clouds, he thinks, come in really stupid shapes. That one looks like a tiger. "No," he says. "Well, I do. They just kind of don't want to know me."
Spencer's elbow nudges his. "Well," he says, "they're kind of dicks, then. They don't know what they're missing out on."
"Yeah?" Brendon manages, although he can't help it, he's kind of choked up. He doesn't want Spencer to know.
"You're totally one of us now," Spencer tells him, without moving. "You don't need them."
"Right," Brendon stumbles over the word, breath catching in his throat. He knows Spencer's watching him now. "Don't tell the others, right?" he manages. "Don't tell them I was upset."
Spencer shifts so that his head is by Brendon's shoulder, hair brushing against Brendon's neck. "I won't. Look," he says, pointing up at the sky. "That cloud looks like a tiger."
(c)
Вот только теперь, на 5ом (6ом?) прочтении заметила этого тигра. А вообще такая классика жанра и показывает все, за что я люблю пейринг. И, кажется, именно этот фик и помог мне стать шиппером.
"Yeah."
"You kind of hate it, right?" Spencer says, and Brendon nods. He does. Before this summer he wouldn't have admitted to it - no, school's great, it's amazing, there are some cool kids there, love the music - but he really, really does hate it.
"I'd be a great friend," Brendon says miserably.
"Yeah," Spencer says, and Brendon's not looking at him but he thinks that maybe Spencer's looking at him. "Brent says you don't really know many people."
Brendon's foot taps against the fence. He shakes his head. Clouds, he thinks, come in really stupid shapes. That one looks like a tiger. "No," he says. "Well, I do. They just kind of don't want to know me."
Spencer's elbow nudges his. "Well," he says, "they're kind of dicks, then. They don't know what they're missing out on."
"Yeah?" Brendon manages, although he can't help it, he's kind of choked up. He doesn't want Spencer to know.
"You're totally one of us now," Spencer tells him, without moving. "You don't need them."
"Right," Brendon stumbles over the word, breath catching in his throat. He knows Spencer's watching him now. "Don't tell the others, right?" he manages. "Don't tell them I was upset."
Spencer shifts so that his head is by Brendon's shoulder, hair brushing against Brendon's neck. "I won't. Look," he says, pointing up at the sky. "That cloud looks like a tiger."
(c)
Вот только теперь, на 5ом (6ом?) прочтении заметила этого тигра. А вообще такая классика жанра и показывает все, за что я люблю пейринг. И, кажется, именно этот фик и помог мне стать шиппером.